“Oh!” said Stalky. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“’Cause you didn’t listen. They had drinkin’-horns an’ badges, and there’s a Johnson note on Shakespeare about the meanin’ of Edgar sayin’ ‘My horn’s dry.’ But Johnson’s dead-wrong about it. Aubrey says——”
“Who’s Aubrey?” Howell demanded. “Does King know about him?”
“Dunno. Oh yes, an’ Johnson started to learn Dutch when he was seventy.”
“What the deuce for?” Stalky asked.
“For a change after his Dikker, I suppose,” Howell suggested.
“And I looked up a lot of other English stuff, too. I’m goin’ to try it all on King.”
“Showin’-off as usual,” said the acid McTurk, who, like his race, lived and loved to destroy illusions.
“No. For a draw. He’s an unjust dog! If you read, he says you’re showin’-off. If you don’t, you’re a mark-huntin’ Philistine. What does he want you to do, curse him?”
“Shut up, Beetle!” Stalky pronounced. “There’s more than draws in this. You’ve cribbed your maths off me ever since you came to Coll. You don’t know what a co-sine is, even now. Turkey does all your Latin.”